


The Art of Giving

by Mynsii



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: (plus several Christmas's later), Alien Baby's First Christmas, F/M, festive fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-19 13:47:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13124994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mynsii/pseuds/Mynsii
Summary: “I recall a similar practice on Vegetasei,” he looks contemplative, lost in a swarm of long-buried childhood memories.“Oh?”“My father would return from a purge with his men and bring my mother the finest jewels from the conquered planet."“See, there we go! Every girl wants pretty jewellery for Christmas.”“If my mother was extremely lucky, he'd offer her the head of the former ruler, and those who survived the battle would tell tales of the fight and boast their kill count over the celebration pyre.”"…Well, let's put a pin inthatsuggestion."---// Festive two-shot. //





	1. First

There's three weeks before Christmas and thirty months before the androids are due to arrive when Bulma decides she can't just sit around moping about being single and agonising over the potential apocalypse.

Chi Chi is over and she's brought Gohan with her, currently preoccupied with the placement of the star atop the ridiculous 24ft Christmas tree that sits pride and place in the living room. It's normally Yamcha's job, but he's spending Christmas with Roshi and Krillin this year, a fact that still stings far more than it should, so Gohan has bravely stepped up to complete the task, hovering uncertainly as his mother and Bulma give him conflicting advice as to the proper way to set the ornament.

It's Gohan's presence that does it, she's sure.

Vegeta only emerges from his mechanical cave when someone with a power level substantially higher than virtually zero enters the compound. Everyone else he ignores as though they were merely vermin, though to a royal with the ability to obliterate entire planets with the tip of his finger, she supposes they are. He bursts through the door just as Gohan is shimmying the star further to the left on Chi Chi's command, and they all freeze. Bulma quite likes having Vegeta around, he's brutish and rude, but she also finds him to be fairly handsome in his own broody way, and she admires his dedication to any given task he sets his mind to. More than that, he's softened substantially since moving into the Capsule Corp. compound, more-so since Yamcha's abrupt exit from Bulma's life, and she's actually gotten some semblance of conversation out of him on occasion.

He's rough around the edges, undeniably so, but she suspects that deep down he's gentler than he'd ever let on, and most of his unyielding rage is born from unfathomable sadness. She's caught him, now and then, staring at the blank expanse of space, looking lost and oh-so-lonely, his kind extinct save for two and a half, and the ache that seizes her heart in those moments feels powerful enough to kill her should she choose not to look away.

But, understandably, Chi Chi can't trust him – he is the monster responsible for the kidnap and year long wilderness training session of her four year old son; the man who he once tried to murder along with the kid's father. Were it not for the threat of his presence, Chi Chi wouldn't have been left to face twelve long, lonely months dealing with both the loss of her husband and her toddler. Gohan just seems uncertain of the motives of everyone who isn't his father or Piccolo.

Bulma can't honestly blame the kid.

“Where's Kakarot?” Vegeta asks with his usual lack of tact. He's not looking at anyone in particular, and it's hard to tell who he's actually talking to.

Gohan sinks to the floor, standing between his mom and his prince. He's a brave boy, far braver than he should be at eight years old. Sometimes Bulma feels guilty for having to rely on him so heavily. “He's training with Mr.Piccolo...”

Vegeta seems to consider this for a brief moment before stalking towards the boy like a predator closing in on his prey. “Come on boy, you're training with me.”

Vegeta has Gohan by the the collar of his shirt and is dragging him out of the the door, Chi Chi shrieking obscenities and demands that Vegeta unhand her son _immediately_ to little avail. Vegeta is ignoring her, as he ignores most people, and poor Gohan is shooting the two women pleading looks, probably resolving to never return to Capsule Corp. as long as he lives.

“Let go of him,” Bulma says firmly, and to everyones surprise – barring her own – Vegeta complies, dropping Gohan with a quiet 'ooof'. He glares at her, cocking his head to the side in silent demand for an explanation, and Bulma sighs. He almost looks cute, like an inquisitive puppy, but Bulma squashes _that_ thought before it can gain momentum and begin to fester. “It's _Christmas_. Leave him alone. He can train with you some other time.”

Vegeta sneers at her and mutters something under his breath in a language she doesn't understand, but he doesn't push the issue, instead sauntering past her to help himself to a fistful of the gingerbread cookies that she and Chi Chi had made earlier in the afternoon. He shoves them into his mouth and barely chews before he swallows, casting Gohan one last look before retreating from the room and presumably heading back to the Gravity Chamber.

“How did you _do_ that?” Chi Chi asks, eyes wide in astonishment, jaw slack.

Bulma just shrugs, because she doesn't honestly understand it herself, she just knows that when it comes to her Vegeta is unusually biddable, and almost always acquiesces eventually, even if it does come with a lot of squabbling and temper tantrums.

“Okay,” Bulma says, reaching into a cardboard box and pulling out a string of tinsel. “Gohan, I think we need to move the star more to the _right_.”

\------

“What is this 'Christmas'? Some sort of ritual?”

Vegeta slams down his fist in the centre of Bulma's desk, displacing the schematics to the indoor Gravity Chamber that she's been slaving away on all day. It's been about a week since Chi Chi and Gohan came over, and the Capsule Corp. compound is a mess of tinsel, tacky ornaments and paper chains. She's seen Vegeta glance at them with suspicion, seen his eyes narrow at Panchy's awful carolling. She's not sure if he _hates_ it, or he's just confused. It's hard to tell with Vegeta.

She looks up from the blueprints and raises a brow. He's just in a navy wife-beater and black spandex shorts, and the scientist in her wants to probe him about Saiyan body temperatures because _she's_ wearing a thick woollen jumper _and_ a thermal leggings and she's _still_ freezing cold.

“You don't have Christmas?” Bulma asks, and she regrets the question instantly because of _course_ an alien race of hyper-aggressive warriors wouldn't share a human commercial holiday rooted in religion and capitalism.

Vegeta actually _growls_ like an animal, and Bulma rolls her eyes. He looks frustrated by the lack of respect, but there's also a hint of what appears to be admiration in there, and Bulma's stomach somersaults at the thought. “It's a festival. It's a... well...” she struggles to find the words to explain it in a way that Vegeta will understand. “There's lots of reasons humans celebrate it. It's like a big gathering of your closest companions every december. We give gifts to our loved ones and have a kind of feast to celebrate. We basically gorge ourselves on food until we feel sick and then tell stories.”

“I recall a similar practice on Vegetasei,” he looks contemplative, lost in a swarm of long-buried childhood memories.

“Oh?”

“My father would return from a purge with his men and bring my mother the finest jewels from the planet he recently conquered,” it's a rare display of honesty from Vegeta, and it's somewhat disarming. But she likes it, it makes her heart flutter and she can feel butterflies rioting in her stomach at the closeness he's offering her. Vegeta's cheeks are somewhat pink but he's smiling, so she takes all that she can and offers him a brilliant, beaming smile of her own.

“See, there we go! Every girl wants pretty jewellery for Christmas.”

“If my mother was extremely lucky, he'd offer her the head of the former ruler of aforementioned planet, and those who survived the battle would tell tales of the fight and boast their kill count over the celebration pyre.”

“Uhhh.. lets put a pin in _that_ suggestion, okay?”

Vegeta shakes his head, bringing himself back to the present, and stares at Bulma with this smouldering intensity that makes her heart rabbit wildly. “Do _you_ want anything for this 'Christmas'?”

It almost sounds like Vegeta is offering to get her a present, but that can't be right because it's _Vegeta_ , but she fumbles and blubbers dumbly. “What?'

“You said that this festival involves gift giving,” he says, speaking slowly as if she were a child. “I asked you if you expected a gift.”

Bulma's face is glowing, and she can feel the heat radiating off of her skin. She wonders if he notices but again, probably not, because it's Vegeta. “Uh, no. Not really,” she laughs self-consciously to displace the awkward feeling rising in her chest, and he quirks a brow at her. “I mean what can you get the richest woman on the planet right? Ha!”

She devolves into semi-hysterical laughter and Vegeta rightfully looks at her as though she's a mad woman before turning on his heel and stalking out of the lab. Just before the automatic door hisses closed behind him he looks over his shoulder.

“By the way, the Gravity Chamber requires fixing, woman.”

\------

“Bulma honey, are you sure you want to use a marmalade glaze instead of a honey one?”

Panchy is fussing about in the kitchen, hovering around Bulma like an annoying insect, and Bulma's already remarkably low tolerance for bullshit is reaching the end of its tether.

“Yes, mom.”

“I'm just saying,” her mother continues in that awful, sugar-sweet way of speaking she has. It makes Bulma's teeth ache and stomach curl. She's not sure how her dad has put up with it for so long. “You're just a young girl and you don't have much experience with this sort of thing.”

“Mom, I'm thirty.”

“Okay, dear.”

The kitchen is a mess of dishes, a ridiculous quantity for the amount of people they were cooking for, but Saiyan appetites were no joke and she isn't sure that even with enough food to feed every Capsule Corp. employee several times over it's going to be enough to fill Vegeta's stomach.

Her mother is long gone, downing whiskeys in the drawing room with her father; the ham is in the oven and she's working on a mammoth bowl of mashed potatoes when Vegeta walks in. Cooking isn't her forte and truth be told she has very little patience for it, but she must be doing something right because his nose is raised in the air and sniffing like a hound, practically salivating. He's shirtless, his muscles gleaming with a thin sheen of sweat, clearly fresh from his training, and Bulma is _actually_ salivating.

She tries to ignore the scars, particularly the long, ugly ones on his back that are far too symmetrical to have been inflicted in battle, because they make tears spring involuntarily to her eyes and her throat seize up. She knows that her concern, especially her pity, would be unwelcome guests in Vegeta's life, so she steels herself and reserves her mourning for a man she barely knows for later. She wonders if he knows how many times she's sobbed into her mattress over him. She hopes he doesn't.

“What are you doing?” he asks her, unusually placid. He's eying the food in surrounding them, but he's also staring at her in fascination. Her skin is growing hot again, as it has an unfortunate habit of doing in his presence lately.

“It's Christmas, remember?”

She's not sure if he did remember. His focus for anything other than training and fighting androids/Kakarot is limited at best.

“Is that today?” He's still looking at her, though his expression has softened. He almost doesn't look like the Vegeta she has come to know over the last year. He's certainly a far cry from the harbinger of doom who threatened to end the entire planet only a year prior.

“No. It's tomorrow.”

“Tch.”

She tries to resume pulverising the potatoes but his gaze is hot and lingering and it's distracting her. He usually ransacks the kitchen for a meal and then retreats to his private quarters but today he's watching her and it's frazzling Bulma's brain.

“Why are you preparing a feast today if it doesn't begin until tomorrow?” Vegeta asks eventually. Bulma permits herself a quick glance in his direction and is surprised to find him perched on what little free counter space is left. It's a pose that is so _human_ that it disarms her to see it adopted by an alien warrior.

“It's a Breifs' family tradition. We split the eating part over two days.”

“Are many people expected to attend?”

“Not really. Just family. Sometimes Goku and Chi Chi come over, or one of the other guys, but they're all pretty busy this year. Y'know, training. Yamcha used to spend it with us, but...” she trails off. It's been eight months but it's still a hard pill to swallow that this time they're over for good. Fourteen years is a long time to be with someone, and even though neither of them were happy towards the end she's not entirely sure what she's supposed to _do_ now.

“Hng.”

He's not very vocal, but then again that just seems to be his personality, so with the conversation apparently done she once again tries to resume the simple task of mashing potatoes. Which still seems ostensibly impossible, because he's _still_ ogling at her. She _almost_ asks if his mother ever told him it was rude to stare, but catches herself at the last moment. He talks very little about his father, less so about his mother, and reminding someone with a raging temper who could break her neck as easily as a toothpick that his parents are dead isn't the best idea she's ever had.

With a huff Bulma abandons the still-lumpy potatoes and instead roots around in her pocket for a particular capsule; popping it open on the kitchen table. She rifles through the contents until she finds the package – wrapped neatly in cobalt paper – and hands it to Vegeta.

He glares at it, his expression morphing into his customary frown, and actually brings it up to his face to _smell_ it, before shooting her an accusatory look. “Woman, what's this?”

Bulma grins and tries to act as though her insides haven't melted to a viscous goop, and she's actually only still standing through sheer force of will alone. “A present!”

“A present?” he repeats with far less enthusiasm.

“Yeah, genius. I told you that people give each other presents at Christmas, did I?”

“I thought this custom was for close companions?”

“You _are_ my friend, jackass. Why do you think I nearly kill myself repairing machinery every day?”

“Tch.”

He's actually _blushing_ and Bulma has to bite her lip to suppress the moan-laugh that rises in her throat at the sight of it. For the first time since he strut in like a damn half-naked peacock she feels like she has the upper hand.

“You're supposed to open it, you know.”

He murmurs a mixture of profanities and words (probably more profanities) in that language she doesn't understand, but begins to gently peel at the wrapping paper regardless. It always surprises Bulma that a creature so perfectly sculpted for destruction as he is is capable of being so careful and deliberate. Then again, Goku's heritage is as bloody as Vegeta's and though he thirsts for a good fight Bulma doesn't think Goku is capable of being anything but sweet. Perhaps Saiyans just aren't as inherently pugnacious and homicidal as Vegeta insists they are.

“Woman...” his name for her slips from his lips in a quiet gasp and he holds up the suit of armour she'd built him in nothing short of sincere wonder.

It's unlike his usual training sets, though the blue spandex battle suit is much the same. The shoulder pauldrons are far more pronounced, a burgundy cape attached to the left side, and the addition of matching tassets gives it a vague resemblance to the armour he first wore to Earth. The gloves she'd adapted to more closely resemble Spartan bracers, but he seems to notice little else but the image branded into the cuirass.

It's making her nervous, and she gnaws anxiously on her bottom lip before fiddling with her fingers. “I saw you draw it once, and I guessed it was like a royal crest or something and I thought you deserves some armour that was fit for an actual prince, ya know? And it _is_ Christmas so I thought 'fuck it', it'll make a good present and...” Bulma was babbling again. Perhaps this wasn't a good idea. She doesn't actually know what the symbol means and it could be really offensive. “If I did something wrong I'm sorry...”

“No, it's...” It _almost_ sounds like Vegeta is about to say something _nice_ but he catches himself and gathers his new belongings in a flustered heap. “I have to go.”

He's gone in a blink of an eye, and it's only when the fire alarm starts shrieking at her that she realises _something_ other than her skin is burning.

\------

Being the brilliant, scientific genius that she is Bulma Briefs has long since stopped believing in Santa. That being said, when she awakes Christmas morning with a small box placed daintily in the centre of the unoccupied pillow besides her own, she can't help but wonder who else it could be from, if not from a jolly fat man himself.

She reaches for it almost nervously, unsure as to what to expect, and it sure as hell isn't the actual contents of the box. She tips it out onto her hand, and the small piece of polished meteorite – jet black with scattered flecks of amber and turquoise – that falls into her palm is cool and surprisingly smooth. A thin golden coloured chain has been passed through the middle of it, and she's trying to work out _who_ left it there and _why_ when she hears someone clear their throat.

“It's a fragment of the meteor that destroyed Vegetasei,” Vegeta is stood in her doorway looking rightfully uncomfortable, frowning slightly to himself and avoiding any semblance of eye contact. “Though I suppose it's likely a fragment of Vegetasei itself, considering there was no meteor. In any case, I had Nappa take me to retrieve it when I heard of my planets destruction.”

“Oh,” Bulma doesn't know what to say. What _can_ she say to that? So she simply asks the first question that springs to mind. “Why?”

“It's Christmas,” he replies simply, though his voice is hot and brimming with embarrassment.

“It _is_ Christmas,” she agrees.

She holds the necklace up by the chain to inspect it further, and her pulse leaps. There's a certain intimacy between them that has her veins throbbing with adrenaline, and she can't imagine what must have driven Vegeta to part with one of the few remnants of his planet that he had left. She's about to say something that could almost be considered as profound as it was sappy, when she notices he's already gone, no doubt unable to deal with the crushing awkwardness of the entire situation.

She thumbs the stone once more, and permits herself one small, fond smile.

“Thank you, Vegeta.”

\------

She's speaking to an empty room, but she doesn't realise the Crown Prince of Saiyans is still lingering in the hallway between their rooms. Her gratitude pierces him like a spear, but he doesn't find it to be entirely unpleasant.When he is certain he is alone he permits himself his own smile before shaking his head free of such a pathetic expression and retreating to the Gravity Chamber.

 


	2. Fifth

Vegeta has been gone for three weeks, and Bulma can't shake the sinking feeling that this time he might have gone for good.

It's not like he hasn't done this before; she still remembers the pain of being left alone and pregnant and desperately in love with the devil himself, but she'd never imagined him doing it again. Not now.

Things had been going so well, and he was actually showing affection to both her and Trunks (in the confines of their home, of course) following the Cell Games. He'd wordlessly move all of his belongings from his private room into Bulma's own, and he actually _kissed_ her or touched her outside of the bedroom as a normal _boyfriend_ would. True, he had undeniably sunken into a period of depression following the death (and subsequent resurrection) of their future son, and the far more permanent demise of Goku. But he'd slowly begun to rouse himself from that state and spent a lot more time with her and the baby, instead of simply locking himself away in the Gravity Chamber.

She'd thought things were going well, until one day she awoke to an empty bed and a missing ship and now she faces the prospect of explaining to her two year old son why daddy isn't here at Christmas. There's only a little over a month to go and the last time he just upped and left he'd missed the entire length of her pregnancy.

She doesn't know what to do now.

\------

“Dada!”

“No, baby.”

Trunks frowns and the metal spoon in his fist snaps in half with an audible pop. “DADA!” he demands again, louder, fiercer. It's hard to tell which parent he gets _that_ from.

It never ceases to frustrate and amaze her that this child who she carried for nine gruelling months, who could have so very easily killed her with a poorly placed kick in-vitro, could favour his cold, comparably distant father so dearly.

“Dada _PEASE_!” Trunks' bottom lip quivers and his little fist hits the high chair table in the beginnings of another tantrum. The table falls away under his touch; it's the third one he's broken this week, and Bulma can't help but wonder how Chi Chi copes with her boys on such a limited income. But at least she has Gohan to help her with Goten – the tragic little surprise that Goku never even got to find out about, much less meet. Bulma just feels so alone.

“Daddy's not here, Trunkie.”

“No Dada? Why no Dada? Train. Train!”

Ever since Trunks had taken his first fumbling steps Vegeta had started training with him. Simple exercises that worked on helping Trunks control his power. Trunks, adoring his father as much as his mother does, gladly takes the opportunity to spend every second he can with his dad. From a distance their training almost looks like _playing_ but every time Bulma suggests this with a wicked glint in her eye Vegeta's eye begins to twitch and he starts on one of his rants about Saiyan Pride.

She still doesn't know what to do now.

She doesn't have the physical means to teach Trunks what he needs to know herself, and with both Goku and Vegeta gone she doesn't know who to turn to. She could ask Yamcha, Tien or Krillin, perhaps even Piccolo, but it seems wrong to pawn her baby off on someone else to raise when his father should be here. It makes her wonder how her future self was able to cope for all those years. She thinks, much like her present self, she just didn't have a choice.

\------

“Ten! Ten!”

Trunks has his chubby little arms outstretched towards the younger of the Son boys, his big blue eyes wide with excitement. Goten babbles in his own mother's arms, and while he's still too young to formulate the words he looks equally as happy to see Trunks. Gohan is stood awkwardly by his mother's side, offering up a shy smile of his own to Trunks and Bulma

It's been way too long since she's seen the Son family, but with Goku gone it's hard. She knows they've lost their husband and father, but Bulma has lost her best friend, and the thought of never seeing him again continuously breaks her heart anew. She doesn't know what to say to Chi Chi, how to comfort a woman who continues to lose everything, and Goten looks so much like Goku she almost can't bear to look at him.

But it's Christmas and they are all family, the mothers of the last remaining Saiyans, and Bulma can't guiltily avoid them forever.

Both babies are crawling and toddler around the living room, Gohan keeping a watchful eye on them to help prevent disaster. “How are you doing, Chi Chi?” Bulma asks over a cup of tea.

Chi Chi looks tired, but she forces a smile as she watches their children play. “It's getting easier,” the other woman admits. It's the life they signed up for, but it doesn't make things any less painful. “I have the boys, and my dad helps out as much as he can. It's just not the same without Goku. But we'll be okay.”

Gohan is staring at the Christmas tree intently, trying to block out any conversation that revolves around his dad. Out of everyone he's taking his father's death the hardest, which isn't surprising. He's experienced so much loss in his short life, and having to cope with the loss of his dad _twice_ can't be any easy thing to deal with. “Bulma, do you want me to put the star on top of the tree for you?”

The rest of the house is dressed lavishly in Christmas finery, save for the finishing touches on the gigantic fir in question. Perceptive as always, of _course_ Gohan would notice such a thing.

“No, it's okay,” Bulma's bottom lip trembles and she has to steel herself to stop the onslaught of unbidden tears. “Vegeta has done it for me for the last few years.”

There's a heavy silence, and it's as uncomfortable as it is awkward.

“Dada gone,” Trunks clarifies seriously, needlessly. Everyone already knows Vegeta's taken off Kami only knows where; they'd learnt that fact after Bulma had frantically rang around asking if anyone had seen or sensed him. “No Dada. No train.”

Chi Chi smiles sympathetically and pats Bulma's hand, and the rush of guilt that smacks her in the face is overwhelming. She should be comforting the widow, and not the other way around. But, she supposes, loss is loss, and Chi Chi of all people knows how hard it is to be a single parent.

“It okay, Mama,” Trunks says. “It kiss-mass.”

“Yes, it is,” she agrees.

\------

“Hello, woman.”

His voice is like velvet, and she hasn't heard it in so long she considers the fact she might be hallucinating. It's Christmas eve and perhaps all of her pining has finally manifested into something even more unhealthy. Trunks is in bed, and _he's_ stood on the balcony attached to their room.

“Vegeta? Is that really _you?_ ”

He's wearing the royal battle amour she made him long before their affair began, a present for his first Christmas, and it takes her by surprise because she's never actually _seen_ him wear it before. If it wasn't for the fact that he vehemently refuses to throw it away every time she suggests it, she'd have have believed he hated it. He looks incredibly handsome.

He doesn't say anything, just stands there so she takes a tentative step forward. Then another. And another. Until she's stood directly in front of him and her little fists are hitting against his chest. Surprisingly, he lets her. Meagre power level or not he'd never usually allow for such a display, but he's baring it well. “You _asshole._ Do you know what you've done to me? You just _left_ me. You left _us.”_

She's crying but she doesn't care, and when he raises a finger to brush away a tear from he face she collapses into the touch.

“I've been attending to business,” he says quietly, pushing her away again.

“Oh yeah? And what could be more important than me and our son?” she asks hotly.

Vegeta makes a clicking noise with his tongue and presses a small black box into her palm. It reminds her of the one she once found on her pillow so many Christmases prior, and her heart leaps at the memory. She looks at his face curiously, before focusing her attention on the object that apparently stole him away from her for the better part of two months.

She opens it hesitantly and gasps, her knees threatening to buckle. The ring that sits inside is beautiful; a large, deep blue teardrop stone encased in a golden cage, two smaller burgundy stones sitting either side. The band itself is an intricate weaving of what appeared to be gold, with a symbol she instantly recognised as Vegeta's royal crest branded into the metal.

“Vegeta...”

She glances up at him, his cheeks are hot, scalding red, and her heart clenches at the sight of such a powerful man reduced to little more than a blushing teenager at this show of affection.

“The jewels were my mother's. She gave them to me before I was taken to live with _him._ I went to retrieve them from my old station on Frieza's base. There was a fight to reacquire the,” he says simply. “I then had them fashioned into a ring for you, as is customary for your species. Your mother provided me with the dimensions.”

“Wait, my mom knew about this?” Bulma considers rushing down the stairs to chew her mother out, letting her fester and mope when she _knew_ that Vegeta was only gone on a temporary basis. But she decides against it, almost scared that if she were to leave the Saiyan prince may take off again. “Vegeta, it's beautiful,” she turns the ring over between her fingers, but she dares not put it on yet for fear she might somehow spoil it. “Wait, what's customary for my people?'

Vegeta huffs and looks off to the side, the blush darkening and consuming his entire face now. “I've been told that on Earth when you wish to commit yourself to a mate for life, it's established that the male presents the female with a ring.”

The words hit her like a freight train, and Bulma is left breathless. She feels giddy, her stomach rolling over and in on itself, and her heart hammers painfully in her chest. “Are you proposing to me?”

“We live together and we share a child. It's only proper that we make things official.”

Bulma can feel her heart sink. Of course it was all to do with Trunks. It had taken him a while to accept that he is a father, but she knows with certainty that Vegeta cares deeply for both the baby and future iteration of her son, and the pride he feels for both is palpable. Still, she'd have liked to have gotten married for reasons other than legitimising the bastard heir to a non-existent throne.

He seems to sense her distress and grits his teeth together before placing a calloused palm to her cheek. His own cheeks continue to flame, but he makes an admirable effort to look her in the eye. “I do not wish to share you, woman. What good is a warrior going into battle without someone to die for? What good is a king without his queen?”

“Oh my God.”

And then he's sinking to his knees, one arm folded across his chest and his fist above his heart, humbling himself to her. And while it's unlike a traditional Earth proposal Bulma feels like she might just shriek in joy.

“Well, woman?” He's looking increasingly uncomfortable, but more than that he looks... _anxious?_ She's never seen him look so worried, even when faced with certain death. He swallows and his Adam's apple bobs painfully.

She throws her arms around his neck and kisses every available space of skin she can find. The word 'yes' tumbles from her mouth repeatedly, and she can feel his small, hopeful smile against her own lips.

\------

She holds her hand out to admire the ring in the light, turning it this way and that to try and uncover her favourite angles. Vegeta's amour is in a discarded heap on the floor, and he shifts beneath the covers at her side. His lips are on her shoulder and she can feel his hands snaking around her hips. His appetite for food, she has long since learnt, is not the only one that's insatiable.

“Why now?” she asks, her eyes still fixed on the ring, trying – somewhat unsuccessfully – to ignore his hungry advances.

“Excuse me?”

“Why do this now?” she clarifies.

“Because it's Christmas.”

It gives her the overwhelming sense of deja vu, and she nestles into his touch. “It is Christmas,” she agrees.

 


End file.
